


an alluring static

by ictus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Body Worship, Bondage, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 07, Scar Worship, Smut Swap Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-01-20 19:59:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18532114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus
Summary: When Keith looks at him, he doesn’t see a fractured soul in an impostor’s body. Keith sees him as someone whole, complete, and touches him as if it were true.





	an alluring static

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TotemundTabu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/gifts).



> Smut Swap treat for the prompts body worship, scar worship and bondage. Set sometime post-S7. Title from [Composure](http://nahhhlina.tumblr.com/post/173490710129/im-tuned-into-the-cicadas-wanting-to-join) by Alina Pleskova; _you fuck my thoughts into an alluring static_.

 

Even though Shiro spends a lot of time thinking about this, nothing can ever prepare him for the feeling of Keith’s mouth on his scarred skin. Keith draws back slowly, running his hands over the scar’s raised edges, and Shiro only has a moment to stutter out a breath before Keith’s leaning forward to run the flat of his tongue over the raised skin. It’s an old scar, one from the arena; long and thin and not so deep that the druids had needed to heal it with magic. It runs the breadth of his pectoral, just over his heart. A few inches deeper, and well—

“Stay with me,” Keith murmurs, his lips brushing Shiro’s skin. Keith’s eyes are intent where they search his face, dragging him back to the present. He can only manage a nod in response, but that seems to be enough. Keith returns his attention to the scar, now peppering it with kisses. Shiro shudders with the sensation, suddenly overcome by an overwhelming dissonance: he has a memory of this scar, but it feels foreign, like it doesn’t belong to him. His heart kicks into overdrive as tension coils in his muscles, his hands bundling into fists where they’re bound above his head.

Finally, Keith relents.

“You okay?” he asks. He presses a kiss to Shiro’s sternum with an untold affection.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice coming out strained. “Keep going.” Keith runs his hands down Shiro’s chest, soothing, and Shiro’s fluttering pulse begins to slow. Keith waits until his breathing evens out before moving onto the next scar.

This isn’t the first time they’ve done this. In the months since returning to earth, Shiro’s come to experience a disconnect between his mind and his body, a discord between his muscle memory and that of his mind. Shiro’s spent long hours in front of the mirror in his quarters mapping the planes of his body, tracing every muscle. _Branchialis, bicep, deltoid. Pectorals, abdominals, obliques. My body_ , he tells himself. _Mine_. But sometimes it feels like a glove that doesn’t quite fit, sometimes he wants to step out of his skin, to cast it off and leave it behind.

It’s these times that he turns to Keith. In many ways, Keith knows Shiro’s body better than he does. Keith has been by his side since the beginning; has trained with him, fought alongside him, has seen him battered and bruised, injured and scarred. When Keith looks at him, he doesn’t see a fractured soul in an impostor’s body. Keith sees him as someone whole, complete, and touches him as if it were true. It’s for this reason that Shiro finds Keith’s touch so grounding, and when Keith runs his hands over the jut of his ribcage Shiro feels something settle in his chest, feels it down to his bones.  

“Close your eyes.”

Shiro opens his mouth to object—he can’t bear to take his eyes off Keith, not when his lips are hovering just inches over his skin. But then Keith says his name again, an order and a plea all at once, and Shiro’s helpless to resist him.

With his eyes closed, every sensation is intensified. Keith traces a trail around the edges of the scar—a knife wound that nearly saw him bleed out on the floor of his cell. The edges are marred; the guards had cauterised it, a white-hot blade pressed directly over the wound that has left the surrounding skin rough and ugly. But Keith doesn’t seem to mind. He presses his lips to the skin again and again with a tenderness that makes Shiro shiver. There are no nerves running through the thick scar tissue, but Keith pays careful attention to the surrounding skin, running his tongue around the outside edge with slow, sensuous movements.

Again, Shiro’s hit with the strange dissociation that comes from an injury that his mind can recall but his body cannot. The scar is identical to the one he used to have in every possible respect, but no blade has ever pierced this skin. Shiro’s hands strain against his bonds, his eyes squeezed shut as he relives the memory.

Keith draws back immediately. Suddenly there’s a hand on his face, gently cupping his cheek. “Shiro.” Shiro opens his eyes to see Keith hovering over him, eyes wide with concern. “Shiro if you need to—”

“I’m okay,” he says quickly. “Please, it’s good, it just—feels a little strange.”

It’s not a lie. The memories are painful, but revisiting them helps him reconnect with his body in a way that’s difficult to explain. Keith studies him for a long time, uncertain. Bound as he is Shiro can’t reach out, but he does arch against him, the length of his body pressed against Keith’s as he slowly grinds their hips together.

“Now you’re just playing dirty,” he murmurs before placing a quick kiss on Shiro’s lips. Shiro deepens the kiss, turning it from something teasing into something slower, more sensual. Shiro’s whole body feels oversensitised, alight with pleasure, and he’s desperate to get Keith’s hands on him again, even if it means—even if it’s hard to bear.

As if sensing the shift, Keith runs his hands over Shiro’s shoulders, his touch reverent. “Close your eyes,” he whispers against Shiro’s lips and this time, Shiro is quick to comply. Keith runs one hand over the set of claw marks that span his bicep while his other hand traces scar tissue of his right shoulder, his fingers running along the seam where his skin gives way to the prosthesis. Shiro’s hands clench and unclench in their bindings but he leans into the touch, breathing out a sigh and feeling something unknot in his chest.

Keith continues in this way, running his hands over Shiro’s rough and marred skin, until he reaches a scar just above his hip. Keith circles the area slowly. Shiro can’t see his face, but he can sense his hesitation.

This scar is different from the others.

Shiro’s just about to tell him he doesn’t have to do this—not for this scar—when Keith presses his lips to its edge, a featherlight touch that sends sparks of pain along Shiro’s nerves. The effect is reversed: his body remembers this wound, the phantom pain shooting through him as if he were reliving the injury, but his mind—

“Keith,” he gasps, eyes flying open. He jerks against the rope, trying to reach out to him.

“Do you want me to untie—”

“No it’s okay,” he says quickly. The bonds are more symbolic than anything, so loose that Shiro could slip free of them at any moment; a steady reminder that he’s putting his pleasure in Keith’s hands. Keith’s thumb is still circling the scar and Shiro aches with a need to touch him, to reach out and run his fingers over the twin scar that’s mirrored on Keith’s cheek in his own act of apology.

“Do you remember how you got this?”

Shiro’s mouth has gone dry. He swallows hard. “Kind of. Everything is—hazy.”

Keith’s hair has fallen into his eyes so Shiro can’t read his expression, but after a time, he nods. He’s silent. He doesn’t apologise—a fact for which Shiro is unspeakably grateful. Shiro couldn’t bear to hear those words on Keith’s lips, not when he was the one, not when he—

Keith presses the pad of his thumb into the centre of the scar, forcing all the breath out of Shiro’s lungs. The memory comes back to him: the tip of Keith’s blade pressed against his skin, Keith holding it there but refusing to thrust, even at the cost of his own life. He feels the memory of the pain echoed in his skin, mind and body finally coming together in harmony, the tension leaking out of his body and leaving him breathless.

Some of that must show on his face because the pressure of Keith’s hands vanishes. A moment later, his hands are back on Shiro’s face, cradling it gently. “You okay?”

Shiro’s still breathing hard, eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Yeah,” he says, the word leaving his mouth on a sigh. His nerves are singing, sending sparks to his fingertips. Shiro lets the sensation flow through him, gives himself over to it. “I feel better. That was—that was good.” He musters up a smile, hoping it conveys even a fraction of his gratitude.

Keith kisses him, tentative at first. But when Shiro opens up beneath him, he pours himself into the kiss, groaning deep in his throat and grasping Shiro’s face with both hands. Shiro arches off the bed, does everything he can to press his body against Keith’s.

Keith is breathless by the time they draw apart, a dull flush setting into the ridges of his cheekbones. “We can stop now, or—”

He casts his gaze down the long line of Shiro’s body.

Shiro licks his lips. “Or?”

“Or you could let me make you feel good.”

A thrill of arousal sparks in Shiro’s gut. This isn’t about sex, although it does often end that way; so much time spent under Keith’s careful hands always has Shiro craving more of his touch. Shiro’s cock is already hardening against his thigh at the suggestion, and with Keith straddling his hips, he’s sure to notice it too.

“Okay. But I want to touch you.”

“Another time,” Keith says gently, leaning up to press a soft kiss to Shiro’s lips. “Right now I just want to focus on you.”

Shiro’s lips form an objection but the words catch in his throat. He thinks about Keith’s hesitation to touch the scar on his hip, the way he carefully hid his face when he brought up the memory. Maybe Keith needs this as much as he does.

“Okay,” he says instead, his hands feeling restless in their bindings.

Keith smiles, small and shy and just for him. It’s a look that warms Shiro up, right to the bone, and he finds himself mirroring the expression. Keith takes his time trailing his lips and hands over Shiro’s chest, and Shiro can’t help the way his muscles twitch under his touch now that he knows where this is heading.

Keith stops for a moment when he gets to the ridge of Shiro’s hips, his hands hovering over the scar. Shiro holds his breath, waiting for him to say something. But he simply presses his lips to the scar there, the one that he left, then continues on his path.

Shiro sucks in a breath when Keith finally gets a hand around his cock. His touch is light, more intending to hold him in place than bring him pleasure. Shiro shifts under his touch, restless with anticipation, until Keith ducks down to press a kiss to the head

“ _Oh_ ,” Shiro says on a sigh. Keith’s eyes are dark with desire, all traces of shyness gone as he gently draws back the foreskin and wraps his lips around the head. Keith’s lips feel impossibly plush where they’re wrapped around him, and Shiro wants nothing more than to feel that hot, wet slide as he takes him all the way.

But Keith has other ideas. He draws off slowly and licks his lips, running his thumb around the underside of the head. Then, with the same careful deliberation that he’s shown all evening, he ducks his head and starts pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the shaft. Shiro groans, arching off the bed. He knows that he could have his hands in Keith’s hair in an instant, could be guiding his dick between the obscene slide of his lips. But Keith is intent on maintaining the same, slow pace, and all he can do is surrender to his touch, his nails digging into his palms with the effort of remaining restrained.

Keith keeps up a steady pace, and Shiro quickly becomes lost in the hot press of his mouth. Shiro can’t hold back a groan when Keith draws his tongue up the length of his shaft with slow, even pressure, over and over until Shiro’s cock is shiny with spit, precome beading at the head.

“Keith,” he says, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Keith’s only response is to hum as he takes the head of Shiro’s dick back into his mouth, lapping at the precome and tonguing at the slit. Shiro says his name again like it’s the only word his lips a capable of forming, like everything else has fallen away and his world is narrowed to Keith and Keith alone.

“Do you need more?” he asks, something teasing in his tone.

Shiro can only nod in response, words escaping him. He’s already anticipating how good it will feel to have Keith swallowing him down, to feel his throat constricting around him. But when Keith opens his mouth, he presses two of his own fingers past his lips instead, smirking around them in a way that makes Shiro’s dick leak onto his stomach. Shiro groans, tossing his head back and further spreading his legs. Not for the first time, Shiro’s left thinking that Keith knows his body better than he does, and when Keith presses one spit-slick finger inside him, the feeling is so incredible that Shiro believes it to be true.

“Good?” There’s a small smirk playing on the corner of Keith’s lips, but beneath that is pure affection, a selfless desire to make Shiro feel impossibly good.

Shiro can only nod. “More.”

A second finger joins the first and Shiro feels himself open up beneath Keith’s touch. Keith is studying his face, searching for any sign of discomfort and Shiro meets his gaze through his lashes, his mouth falling open in a soundless moan.

“S’good,” he manages as Keith pushes deeper, stroking him from the inside. Shiro’s body is lax with pleasure, pliant under Keith’s touch, and when Keith leans up to kiss him Shiro surrenders to it, yielding easily. Keith’s shift in position means Shiro’s cock is trapped between his stomach and Keith’s body, and Shiro can’t stop the slow roll of his hips, seeking out more contact. Keith smiles against his lips, effectively breaking the kiss, and Shiro’s starting to wonder if he’ll need to beg in order to get Keith’s mouth where he really wants it.

Fortunately, it doesn’t come to that. Keith presses one last kiss to the underside of his jaw before moving down Shiro’s body again, his fingers still pressed deep inside him. He settles between Shiro’s legs and runs a hand down his thigh, but Shiro can focus on nothing other than the unrelenting slide of his fingers, on the way his cock is aching to be touched. Keith crooks his fingers, rubbing deep inside him, and Shiro only has a moment to let out a startled gasp before Keith’s swallowing him down, the slow slide of his mouth hot and wet and completely inexorable as he takes Shiro all the way in one smooth glide. Shiro chokes on a breath, his body writhing as Keith swallows around him, his throat feeling absolutely incredible where it tightens around the head of his dick. Keith has always been amazing at this, but the combination of Keith’s plush mouth and the press of his fingers is enough to drive him to ruin, and he can already feel his orgasm unravelling in his gut.

It takes all of Shiro’s self-control not to break out of his bindings when he comes, not to grab a fistful of Keith’s hair and push himself impossibly deep as he spills down Keith’s throat. Instead he finds himself tugging helplessly at the rope, his body gone taut like a bowstring as Keith draws his orgasm out of him, swallowing unrelentingly until Shiro comes with a shout. The pleasure is blinding, resonating through his entire body, and Shiro can only shudder and moan as it flows through him. For the first time in weeks, Shiro’s mind is blissfully blank, his racing thoughts awash with an alluring static.

Shiro’s only half-aware of Keith drawing off his cock, too focused on feeling the pleasure ebb and dissipate. His fingers come next and Shiro can’t stop the small sigh that escapes his lips when they’re withdrawn, immediately missing the feeling of being full. Shiro lets his eyes flutter closed and when he opens them Keith is hovering above him, brow furrowed in concentration as he struggles with the knots. Keith catches him staring and smiles, that same small smile that’s just for him.

“Hi.” Shiro knows he looks completely dazed, slack-jawed and starry-eyed. But he can’t help but stare in awe of this strong, beautiful man who knows him so completely, and chooses to love him anyway.

“Hi,” Keith replies, sounding amused. “I think I lost you for a moment.” He finally gets the rope undone and brings Shiro’s hand to his lips, tenderly kissing the inside of his wrist and rubbing the red marks where the rope had abraded his skin.

“I’m here,” he murmurs softly. Keith still hasn’t released his wrist but he brings his hand up to Keith’s face and cradles it gently, his thumb tracing the scar that mars his cheek. The one that he left. Shiro feels as though he should say something, can feel the urge bubbling inside him. But then Keith takes his hand in both of his own and presses a kiss to his palm, and Shiro can feel his heart expanding in his chest, can feel it brim and overflow.

From there it’s easy to draw Keith into a kiss, Shiro pouring everything he has into it and Keith responding in kind. Keith presses his hips against Shiro’s thigh and Shiro can feel the outline of his cock through his underwear, hard and insistent where Keith’s unconsciously grinding against him. Keith moves to pull away at the exact moment that Shiro gets his hands on his ass and holds him firmly against his thigh, causing Keith to groan into his mouth.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he says simply.

Keith ducks his head, but Shiro doesn’t miss the flush of his cheeks, the way he licks his lips. “If you’re sure.”

Shiro’s answer comes in the form of a kiss, and within seconds he’s manoeuvred them both so Keith is flat on his back and Shiro’s lying alongside him, propping himself up with his prosthetic hand while his other reaches into Keith’s underwear. The head of Keith’s dick is already tacky with precome, and the fact that Keith has taken pleasure from this evening is enough to rekindle a dull spark of arousal in his gut. His hand is quickly joined by Keith’s, their fingers interlocked and their hands moving in tandem.

There’s something uniquely sensual about this: legs tangled together, gazing into each other’s eyes, lips so close they’re sharing the same breath. Tonight Shiro was flayed open and laid bare, and yet somehow, this feels like their most intimate act yet. Keith’s face is awash with pleasure, his eyelashes fluttering with the effort of keeping his eyes on Shiro. Shiro’s gaze roams his body—all that lithe muscle, gorgeously sculpted. His eyes catch on Keith’s dick, flushed and leaking over both their hands, and he knows that he’s close.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, realising it sounds trite but knowing it will never not be true. Keith’s mouth falls open, his lips forming Shiro’s name, and Shiro can’t help but kiss his breathless mouth, steal the sound right off his lips.

It’s so tempting to watch Keith come, to see him gorgeous and flushed, muscles straining and face drenched with pleasure. But that would mean tearing his lips from Keith’s, and that’s not something Shiro’s willing to give up. Keith groans into Shiro’s mouth as he shudders through his orgasm, his whole body shaking as he spills over both of their hands. Shiro strokes him through it, his come smoothing the glide of his hand, only relenting once Keith starts to twitch with hypersensitivity.  

Shiro presses soft kisses to Keith’s throat as he comes down from the high, his chest still heaving as he catches his breath. The first thing he becomes cognizant of is not Shiro, but the mess on his stomach. Shiro can’t help but laugh at his distasteful expression and the way he quickly shucks his underwear and uses it to wipe both of them off. He finally falls back, looking dazed.

“Hi,” he says, an echo of Shiro’s words from earlier.

“Hi.” Shiro smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind Keith’s ear. He can already feel sleep tugging at him, pulling him under.

“Tired?”

“Yeah,” he says, stroking Keith’s face. In the dim lamplight, the scar is barely visible. Shiro runs his thumb over it just the same. Keith’s eyes flutter closed as he leans into his touch, nuzzling his palm like a kitten. Shiro keeps his hand there, his own eyes falling shut.

As he drifts off, Shiro feels the featherlight brush of Keith’s fingers, his touch impossibly gentle as he traces the scar that spans the bridge of his nose.  

Shiro’s head fills with static.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/scansionictus).


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